The Pool of Two Moons (4 page)

By the third day Lachlan was restless, wanting to try the moves out for himself, and only then did Iseult show him what training and discipline could do, throwing herself into a series of cartwheels that ended with a soaring somersault that took her high into the leafy canopy. He came out then, though frowning, his arms crossed over his chest. Since donning the clothes of his ancestor, he ? had seemed both more righlike and less mysterious. Iseult was conscious of a feeling of anticipation.

"Why do ye always cover your hair?" he had surprised her by asking, tugging at the long tail of her linen cap.

"Is that the question ye wish me to answer?"

"Nay. Though I would like to know .... So ye wish to teach me to fight."

"Aye, if ye would like."

"Meghan seems to think it may be o' use. Just try no' to lecture me or put on that superior smirk o'

yours."

"So gracious as always, Your Highness."

So while Meghan had paced the clearing and scryed through her crystal ball, Iseult had begun teaching Lachlan how to fight. At first it had been difficult, for he had never worked out whether to stride like a man or hop like a bird. By now, however, he was at least able to defend himself if attacked, and his movements were not so awkward as he limped about the clearing.

Meghan had found the weeks of waiting till the spring equinox difficult and her temper this evening was bitter and hot. As they drank the herbal potion she gave them, the wood witch scolded them angrily, testing them on the rites of the equinox. Both Iseult and Lachlan had learnt them the previous day, but in his resentment at her mood, Lachlan either could not or would not remember them.

"It's about time ye took the rituals o' the Coven seriously, Lachlan! Ye must ken all the chants for all the festivals—they are no' all for show and mystification . . ."

"Why do I need to ken them all? I shall be Righ!"

"Ye come from the line o' Cuinn Lionheart himself, and great power is latent in ye. Ye canna wield the Lodestar if the power lies dormant. Ye must learn as much as ye can about your own Skills and Talents afore ye can think o' winning the Lodestar. Ye want to be Righ o' all Eileanan? Ye'll need everything ye have o' strength and knowledge and wisdom, and still ye will need more . . ."

"Aye, aye, I ken, ye've told me all this afore," Lachlan muttered. Meghan clambered to her feet and began gathering together her witch's paraphernalia. "Then why will ye no' heed what I say?" She thrust a load of firewood into Lachlan's arms and piled Iseult's up with wreaths of flowers. Gita clinging to her plait, she began to walk through the forest to Tulachna Celeste.

"If it's so important for me to learn the Skills o' witchcraft, why did ye leave me with Enit all those years?" Lachlan suddenly flared, rustling his wings behind him. "She's no Tower witch, just a forest skeelie that sings for her supper."

"Enit may no' be Tower-trained, but she has powerful magic o' her own," Meghan snapped, leaning on her staff to catch her breath. She continued in a troubled voice, "Ye ken why I had to leave ye with Enit. Ye were more than half bird still. Enit can charm any bird, even one as fierce as ye were, more falcon than blackbird, I swear. She could speak with ye in your own language . . ."

"The song o' the blackbird, ye mean," Lachlan scowled. Lifting his head, he sang so sweetly a pang hooked through Iseult's throat and she had to swallow and look away.

"It was dangerous for ye to be with me." Meghan's voice was low and quick. "I was hunted everywhere, with a price on my head and every seeker in the land focusing on me. I hoped the Banrigh would not find out ye had survived her ensorcelment, and so I had to keep ye well hidden. No one had cause to suspect the jongleurs, and Enit could safely conceal ye and keep ye safe."

"Still, a jongleur's caravan is no' the place to be learning the tricks o' witchcraft," Lachlan responded. "Ye can hardly blame me for no' knowing as much as ye would like, when ye left me to be brought up by gipsies."

"Aye, happen ye are right," Meghan responded with unusual mildness, "but that is no excuse for no'

learning now that ye are with me again. Besides, ye ken ye wanted to stay with Enit once ye knew she was working with the rebels. Ye were filled with black rage against the Banrigh and wanted to be striking against her."

"Aye, because ye would no'!"

"Do no' be a fool," Meghan snapped as she reached the stone-crowned summit. "Ye ken I was working with Enit all the time, I could no' be wandering around in the countryside with a price on my head and a face that every crofter and shepherd knew. Ye just could no' stand to work in shadows, ye had to be out, flaunting yourself and gaining a reputation! Besides, ye ken Enit tried to teach ye some o' the Yedda Skills but ye were as always too impatient, too sulky."

"I could hardly remember to speak, Meghan, if ye remember. It was ages afore I could even summon the One Power again."

"Yet ye were always very strong as a bairn, I still canna understand why ye fear the Power so much now—"

Lachlan opened his mouth to retort, but Meghan held up an imperative hand, insisting on silence while she made the genuflections necessary before she would cross through the great doorway of stone. When they passed through to the inner circle of stones, the sun was tilted on the far distant peak of the Fang, turning the glacier to rose and lavender. It was sunset, time for the rites to begin. The spring equinox marked the end of winter and the dead time, and the beginning of the summer months. It was a time when the magical tides turned, a shift in the harmonies of the earth. For the first time since the coming of the cooler weather, daylight lingered as long as the night. Though not as important to the witches' calendar as Beltane or Midsummer's Eve, it was still a key event and was usually celebrated with the burning of fragrant candles, the making of wreaths and the ringing of bells. Although the three of them were alone in the forest, Meghan intended to celebrate the equinox as fully as if the Coven of Witches were still a power in the land. Once every family would have decorated the house with evergreen branches and chanted the rites, and the bells would have rung out loudly from every village meetinghouse. Now that the Coven was outlawed and witchcraft forbidden, only a few would dare celebrate the vernal equinox, and they would do it in secret. Even fewer would endure the hours of fasting and praying that Meghan insisted upon first; and when they spoke the incantations, it would be in low voices and with fearful glances.

Her eyes shut, a wreath of dark leaves on her head, Iseult endured the lonely hours of the Ordeal, thinking of the great snow-capped needles of stone and the white valleys that had always been her home. Iseult missed the Spine of the World. The warmth of these green hills made her slow and soft, and prone to romantic imaginings. Still, she was proud to be following in the footsteps of her hero father, the first of her people to cross the Cursed Peaks and travel in the land of the sorcerers. He had died here, or so she had thought. The dragons had said that he was not dead, only lost, and so Iseult dreamed of finding him and bringing him back in triumph to her grandmother.

The flames were sinking low when suddenly all Iseult's senses came alert. There was an alien presence within the circle of stones. Jerking her tired eyes open, Iseult saw three tall, pale shapes slowly approaching the fire. Silently she fitted an arrow to her little bow, wound it with the hook on her belt and raised it to her shoulder.

Without warning, a gnarled old hand gripped hers, forcing her to lower the crossbow. If Iseult had not recognized Meghan's touch, she would have killed her immediately, but she subdued her instinctive urge to defend herself, and let the bow and arrow slip to the ground.

I
said we were safe here, Iseult, when will ye learn to trust me?
The witch spoke in her mind.
If ye
had fired and killed one o' our hosts, ye would have done great evil, for the Celestines are the
gentlest o' creatures, and we shelter here at their kindness. Learn to think afore ye seek to kill, my
bairn, for else ye are as evil as those we seek to overthrow.

Iseult nodded, though she watched the noiseless approach of the mysterious figures with distrust. The Fire-maker Meghan may be prepared to extend the hand of friendship to all creatures, but Iseult certainly was not.

The Celestines were tall and slender, with white hair that flowed down their backs. They were dressed in loose robes of pale silk that seemed to shimmer slightly so that a vague nimbus surrounded their forms. In the darkness their faces were indistinct, though occasionally she saw the gleam of their eyes. With the fingers of one hand to their foreheads, they bowed to Meghan. The air was filled with a sonorous humming.

Meghan rose to her feet, bowed, and answered them with the same deep, low croon. It sounded like bees swarming, elven cats purring, leaves rustling, rain blowing.

"It is nigh on midnight," Meghan said softly to her wards. "We shall begin the chanting and dancing soon, and wait for dawn, when the Celestines shall sing the sun to life. Ye may all join in if ye catch the melody; but if ye canna maintain the sound, do no' start. It is a bad omen indeed if the song should falter, and the song o' the Celestine needs stamina and control o' one's breath."

Through the dark came another of the faery creatures, smaller than the others and stooped. When he came closer to the fire to greet Meghan, Iseult saw his face was seamed with wrinkles, his forehead so heavily corrugated that his eyes were hidden in shadow. He and Meghan hummed at each other for some time, the sound surprising Iseult with its flexibility and expressiveness. Although she did not know what they were saying, she heard gladness and welcome, and questions. He placed one multijointed finger between Meghan's eyes, and she bowed her head and let him touch her for a very long time. Then he took her hand in his and let her touch him in the same manner.

So quietly that Iseult did not hear her, another Celestine had come through the outer ring of stones and now stood beside them, humming softly. She and Meghan embraced, and Iseult heard the rising inflection of an anxious question in Meghan's response.

Iseult had almost fallen asleep when Meghan at last returned to the fire. Lachlan was fidgeting under the gaze of the Celestines, grouped by themselves near the water. He looked up with relief as Meghan ordered them to light their torches, and he nudged Iseult with his claw.

The five white figures stood around the dark pool in the apex of the hill and waited in courteous silence as Meghan led Iseult and Lachlan through the rites of the witches. Iseult was growing used to Meghan's ways, but still she felt awkward and rather silly chanting rhymes and dancing round the fire with those solemn figures watching. Again and again her eye was drawn to them, in both wonder and suspicion. With their long white manes and strong facial structure, the Celestines reminded her of the People of the Spine of the World, and you never turned your back on an unknown Khan'-cohban if you could help it. It was in the gray hush before dawn when the Celestines at last moved, stepped forward to hold hands around the pool. The burning torches which Iseult, Lach-lan and Meghan had carried in their hands were scorched to their base, barely glimmering with flame. The fire had sunk to embers, and Iseult was conscious of the dryness of her eyes and the empty ache of her body after a night without food or sleep. One by one the Celestines began to croon, some so low the sound was felt as a thrumming in the veins and arteries and organs, rather than heard; others as high and clear as the tinkle of a waterfall. Meghan joined the Celestines around the pool, their slim tall figures towering over hers. Her murmur interlaced with the Celestines, building in blood-troubling rhythms.

The night was beginning to peel away along the horizon when, unexpectedly, a voice of the clearest and most poignant beauty wove through the song. Iseult, crouched by the fire in a daze, looked up and saw that Lachlan had quietly stepped forward to take Meghan's hand and join the ring of singers. His wings were spread, the moonlight marbling the feathers with silver, highlighting the beautiful line of his jaw and neck. Iseult could only gaze at him and listen, filled with helpless longing. As the stones loomed against the paling sky, birds of all sorts began to sing and carol. Water gurgled as clear, liquid bubbles splashed into life, sending the water in the pool tumbling over the lip of stone and down the side of the hill. Still Lachlan sang, his voice the most beautiful music Iseult had ever heard. The sun rose, embroidering the landscape with color, and the song of the Celestines slowly drifted into silence.

"Och, well done, my laddie!" Meghan cried. "Come and see, Iseult! The summerbourne is running." In the center of the pool a clear spring now bubbled.

Where the water cascaded down the western slope of the hill, a gaudy train of flowers had sprung up—the tiny crimson stars of waterlilies, golden buttercups, blue forget-me-nots, the white buds of wild strawberries and the heavy pink heads of clover.

The Ceiestines were humming excitedly, and Meghan turned and embraced her nephew. "It is true, ye have magic in your voice," she cried, and tears were wet on her wrinkled face. "The summerboume is running, stronger than it has for years! They say it is the best singing o' the dawn since the Faery Decree, for there are so few Ceiestines left and many are too sick at heart for the singing! Oh, Lachlan, I am so pleased and surprised! Enit said ye refused to use your voice, though she knew it had the power o'

enchantment. Ye have Talent indeed—look at the spring, how strongly it flows!" The youngest of the Ceiestines, a slim woman dressed in palest yellow, came forward and took Lachlan's hands and gazed intently into his eyes. A surprised expression crossed Lachlan's face, then a look of squirming embarrassment. "That's all right," he said gruffly. "It seemed the thing to do—I could hear the melody building . . ."

After another long, searching look, she moved then to Meghan and the two embraced and wandered off, deep in conversation. One by one, the other Ceiestines bowed to Lachlan and touched their fingers to the middle of his forehead and then to theirs. He scowled, unsure how to respond, but they merely smiled joyously then followed the course of the summerboume as it tumbled down the hill. The air was sweet with the heady scent of the flowers, and woodlarks flew overhead, singing furiously. The whole forest seemed alive with gladness, bright leaves quivering, nisses bathing playfully in the overbrimming stream. Only the oldest of the Ceiestines remained, running his fingers through the liquid silk of the spring, a buttercup tucked in his beard. His face in the fresh light seemed impossibly lined, as if he had seen much pain and sorrow. His sparse hair and beard were white as that of a
geal'teas,
his eyes pale and glittering. Aware of Iseult's gaze, he looked up and touched his fingers to his corrugated brow. Although he smiled, his face did not lose its tinge of melancholy.